Mostly photos of fall '18 in and around Couchwood

Front door lamp table. I keep my umbrella and my clippers on there, too.

                                                    Coffee table in front of the loveseat.

Felt bags from Rhonda Roberts in years past.

        

                          In the kitchen window over the sinks.

Deer chili cooking as I post; smells wonderful.

              Basket  on the outside of the window air conditioner.

One of the three porch windowsills. So far, nothing has blown or fallen off the ledge.

Barberry in its autumn dress. It has berries, too.

Still pansies to plant in the ground or in pots before it gets too cold to work in the yard.

HAPPY AUTUMN '18 TO ALL

Special message to Elephant's Child: Surely there's an easier way to post photos than I have found.

c 2018,  c 2018, PL, d/b/a/lovepat press, Benton AR USA

Oh, what a week it was!

        I’ll have to admit, much of the week was spent online with the national furor over the happenings around the president’s Supreme Court nominee. I considered the social media “likes,” the “loves,” and the comments I made to various posts as one of my ways of reacting as an interested and involved citizen. So, there’s that; I didn’t keep a log of how much time I spent thereon. (I don’t have a TV, so news and commentary online and the state and local papers are my news sources.)

                The 5^th -Sunday-in-September luncheon for members and guests of Ebenezer UMC in Tull, saw us trek (after church) to Highway 5 in Saline County for a great meal at U. S. Pizza. While waiting for our orders to arrive, Becky chaired a game. On a post-it-note-sized sheet, we were to answer six questions: 1. Where we attended school; 2. Our favorite teacher; 3. Our first car; 4. A hobby; 5. A favorite hymn; 6. Number of children and grandchildren.

                Then she retrieved the papers, shuffled them, and gave each of us one of the sheets. We were to try to guess which person we were reading about. Most folks knew right away who the writer was. If not right away, then when children and grandchildren were numbered. The cutest mini-bio—from a guest—mentioned Hot Wheels as his first car; playing soccer as his hobby, and “This Little Light of Mine” was his favorite hymn. It was the delightful grandson of one of the church elders.

                Just for fun and information, here are the other “favorite hymns.” Amazing Grace (3), I’ll Fly Away (3), Hymn of Promise, Trust and Obey, Blessed Assurance, How Great Thou Art (4), Great is Thy Faithfulness, Grace Alone, What a Friend we Have in Jesus, In the Garden, It is well with my Soul, “#153 (In the Cokesbury Hymnal, it’s Love, Mercy and Grace), A Walk in the Garden, Jericho Road, and, of course, This Little Light of Mine.

          If word gets out that I have a wheelchair ramp newly built down my front steps, it does not mean that I’m the one it was built for. I will need it for hosting the December-5^th-Sunday-luncheon of church folks. 

          Why now, you might wonder? Because my retired son Eric who lives in Hot Springs and  offered to do some “honey-do’s” for me, is a hunter, and, with only a few days free between now and then, he had to “get on it” while he could. It’s a doozy! 

         And, who knows when I might need it myself. Or someone else I know.

Centerpiece for National Poetry Day October 13, 2018

c 2018, PL d/b/a lovepat press, Benton AR USA

                               

Month by month the year has passed: current activities

               As of two weeks ago, we are empty nesters again: Billy (no longer a Kid, but still a grandson) moved to Hot Springs. He’s lived with us (again) since August of 2017. After one early disagreement, we got along famously. He had kitchen privileges, and separate bed-and-bathrooms. Now and then, we would buy each other favorite foods. And he left quite a bit of food here, plus an empty cupboard that I moved canned goods back into. He cleaned his carpet with Resolve, moved the rest of his stuff against the wall, and brought down the twin bed that he’d moved upstairs to accommodate his larger one. He will work at the local Cracker Barrel.

                 Pear season has come and gone. For some reason, the crop wasn’t as large as usual. I brought in a 5-gallon bucket of windfalls, laid them out on a cookie-sheet-sized pan and placed them on the bottom shelf of the fridge, rotten spots and all. Soon, a friend called to see if there were any left; friend came, and we picked up the good ones, then shook the tree for the ones high up. Friend took home parts of four bags of the fruit, from which s/he made preserves. After s/he left, I returned and gathered the mostly- good pears and added to my stash. I’ll eat them raw, unless they continue rotting in the cold. I DID cook one batch of pear sauce that’s good on vanilla yogurt.

                After many years, we’ve divorced Schwan’s. Or they’ve divorced us. Too many discrepancies toward the last for me to accept. And they never got back to me after I complained, so perhaps the feeling was mutual. We’ll miss the raspberry-white-chocolate scones and the frozen yogurt the most, but at the same time, we’ll save money.

                The new grocery that replaced our nearby Harvest Foods has a different way of charging for merchandise: The prices on the items show the store’s cost. Then at checkout, they add ten percent, plus a “food tax.” We’ll see.

                Meanwhile, I’ll keep buying all but fresh fruit and vegetables at Dollar General, also nearby. I may have to search for a good recipe for scones.

                Two seasonal projects now loom: one is to replace summer clothes with winter ones, which usually means washing, or at least airing out, what has been packed away. The second one is prepping plants to move inside. I have several more to move in than I moved out, so making space in the Green Room-cum-breakfast room will be formidable. And maybe impossible. Again, we’ll see.

                My myriad poetry submissions since mid-March have not done well, either in contests or in outright submissions. Two honorable mentions out of seven entries in one venue, and one honorable mention out of eleven entries in another. Mid-October is the final contest date. If I don’t do well there, I might just publish my own writings. Or perhaps write better poems.

c 2018, PL d/b/a lovepat press, Benton AR USA